


The Weathered Bench

by Boogum



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Friendship, Gen, because mr ramier deserves more love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boogum/pseuds/Boogum
Summary: Mr Ramier is known as being the most akumatised person in Paris. He is also one of the kindest.
Relationships: Xavier Ramier & Chloe Bourgeois, Xavier Ramier & Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste's Bodyguard
Comments: 28
Kudos: 95





	The Weathered Bench

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taliax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliax/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Tali! I think it's probably still your birthday somewhere in the world (maybe? Timezones are an illusion anyway, as are pants). Hope you enjoy this!
> 
> also, this one does have minor New York special spoilers. But like very, very minor. So minor you gotta squint

The bench was nothing out of the ordinary. A little weathered, scarred with etched names, a few splotches where bird poop had dried into the wood with stubborn ownership. No, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But the pigeons often gathered around this bench, waiting for the one who cooed to them in their language and give them tasty illegal treats. As for the humans, they never did know quite what they were in for.

"Ridiculous," Chloé muttered, stomping towards the bench in her expensive shoes. "Utterly ridiculous."

She was careful to sit on the non-poopy side and crossed her legs, a scowl twisting her features. It wasn't long before her lip wobbled and her vision blurred with a watery sheen. A few tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away hastily, though more formed.

"Are you okay, Miss Bourgeois?"

She jumped, swivelling around to see Mr Ramier standing beside the bench and looking at her in concern.

"Do you mind?" she snapped. Although it came out with less sharpness than she intended. That was the problem when you were trying not to ugly cry in public.

Mr Ramier smiled in a soft, kind way. It reminded her of Miss Bustier. That somehow made her more irritated.

"We can talk about it if you'd like," he offered.

She raised her nose to the air. "Why would I want to talk about anything with you? You're just some weird pigeon man."

"Perhaps it does seem that way to you," he allowed, "but I've been told I'm a good listener, and it looks like you could do with someone to talk to."

Her traitorous lip wobbled again.

He smiled in understanding, but he did not push her to talk. Instead, he scattered some illegal bird treats. She watched the pigeons waddle happily about near her feet.

The silence continued, broken only by the flutter of wings, the cooing pigeons, and Mr Ramier's soft humming.

"I—" She bit her lip, her cheeks heating. Ugh, she couldn't believe she was about to do this. "I hate going to school now."

"Why is that?"

Because everyone hated her. Because it felt like she had lost Adrien, and Sabrina, and now Miss Bustier was leaving as well for maternity leave. She couldn't even be Queen Bee anymore. Everything was ruined. Everything was changing.

Chloé sniffed. "Because everyone is ridiculous there. Utterly ridiculous."

"I see." His tone was neutral, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "And why do you feel they are so ridiculous?"

More tears wet her eyelashes. "They just are."

He waited as if to see if she would explain further, but she just glared at her expensive shoes and said nothing.

Unperturbed, he sat beside her on the bench and offered the bag of pigeon feed to her. "Would you like a turn at feeding them?" he asked.

"Why?" she said, scrunching her nose like he had offered a bag of pigeon poop instead.

His eyes crinkled into a smile. "I find it relaxing. Perhaps you will as well."

The words were on her tongue to reject him, but somehow her fingers ended up grabbing the bag of seeds. Still scowling, she scattered a handful and watched as the birds gathered around her. So simple. So easy to do. It was kind of relaxing, she supposed, but she still didn't see what was the big deal about pigeons. They were probably covered in diseases anyway. Certainly nothing to get akumatised fifty million times over.

She scattered another handful of seeds. The pigeons cooed, their feathers glinting grey and some with an almost rainbow-like sheen in the sun. Maybe it was a little pretty. Just a little. Her scowl softened. Maybe school wouldn't be so bad either if she'd just …

She lowered her gaze to her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her designer jacket. "Mr Ramier," she said in a small voice.

"Yes, Miss Bourgeois?"

"Do you think it's ever too late to say sorry for something bad you've done?"

"No," he said gently. "I don't think it's ever too late to say sorry."

Her lips curved the tiniest fraction.

By the time she left the bench as Jean-What's-His-Face came to collect her, she was feeling much better, even a little hopeful. Maybe she'd have to tell Daddy to not be so harsh on the pigeons.

oOo

It was a cloudy day. The Agreste's bodyguard, Gerard, peered up at the sky and decided the blanket of grey hanging overhead was not too dark and heavy to keep him inside the car. He had a small break, and he wanted to use it by going to the park to enjoy some fresh air. Unfortunately, he'd no sooner sat down on a bench when a hoard of pigeons swarmed around him.

His eyes narrowed and he swatted at the pigeons, trying to shoo them away.

"Stop," Mr Ramier said, rushing over. "There's no need to be so rude."

Gerard frowned at him, tempted to shoo him away too.

"This is their favourite area," Mr Ramier explained. "The pigeons have just as much right to enjoy the park as everyone else."

Gerard's frown did not waver. He wanted to say that it was not the pigeons; he didn't mind birds and indeed got great enjoyment from listening to their calls. But Adrien was allergic to feathers, and Gerard took his job very seriously. He couldn't be hanging around feathery things. Not if it meant risking a car ride of sneezes and stuffy noses.

"What did the pigeons ever do to you?" Mr Ramier continued, more disapproving than ready to start a true Pigeon Protection tirade. "It's bad enough that no one is supposed to feed them, but—"

Gerard turned away. There was no use trying to explain. He wouldn't be able to form the words, and so few people understood sign language.

"Now look, I'm not saying you have to leave. I just want us all to enjoy the park together and—"

A huff escaped Gerard's lips. _"I can't be around feathers,"_ he signed, his hands weaving the words to life.

Mr Ramier's brow creased, and then his eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I never realised."

Gerard blinked. Wait, did the bird man understand him?

Mr Ramier brought out some kind of whistle from his pocket. "There are many wonderful things about pigeons, but it is, alas, true that not everyone can admire their beautiful plumage without unfortunate consequences. Just a moment." He made some pigeon-like noises in the whistle. Just like that, the gathering of birds moved off. "There."

Gerard blinked, blinked again, and then a small smile curved his lips. _"Thank you,"_ he signed.

"You are very welcome." Mr Ramier hesitated and then gestured to the bench. "I don't suppose you'd mind a bit of company?"

Another blink. _"If you like."_

"Excellent."

Mr Ramier joined him on the bench, all smiles and friendliness. It was hard to believe that this was the man who had been akumatised the most in Paris.

"Tell me," Mr Ramier said, looking quite hopeful. "Do you like chess?"

Gerard's mouth twitched into another rare, tiny smile. _"As a matter of fact, I do."_

oOo

The pigeons cooed happily as they gathered around Mr Ramier's feet. He glanced to his right at the empty space on the bench. Marianne's spot. She'd been gone some time now. He was glad that she had been able to reunite with her old lover, but the soft pangs still lingered, like a bruise that had yet to fade. It wasn't a romantic hurt. No, that whole romance thing had never interested him much. It was the pang of lost friendship, of missed conversations, and an empty space on a weathered bench.

Marianne had been his first real friend. She had been the one who had encouraged him to not be ashamed of himself and to live his life to the fullest. (Even if it that meant risking fines to feed his beloved pigeons.) She had played chess with him and given him comforting words. In time, he'd even been able to do the same for her.

"And I won't stop being a friend to people," he promised.

It was what she would have wanted. It was what he wanted.

Maybe he was the most akumatised person in Paris, but he wasn't ashamed. He would keep wearing his smile, keep feeding his pigeons, and keep befriending all who were in need. He would be the man she had helped him to be.


End file.
